Level Two

A little over two years ago, I left my long-time job at a software development firm and transferred to the IT department of a multinational company. Although I started still as a programmer, all application development of my new company was eventually outsourced to a third-party and I ended up becoming part of functional production support.

I had the intention of professionally branching out of coding, but did not expect that the chance would come as soon as it did. I had my hesitations at first, but decided that it would be a good thing to learn more about business processes and the applications that support them at a higher level. So I transitioned to the new position. I scooched over to the functional support and am now sandwiched between the clients and the technical group.

Now, just a background of my previous programming job. For a long time, it had been my comfort zone because the setup was fitting to my personality.  In actual work, I only had to deal with three people: my systems analyst for the specs, my test engineer for the bugs, and my team lead mainly for the schedule. All I had to do was to make sure I followed the design, I fixed all the bugs before deployment, and I met the schedule.

I went from having to interact with those three technical people to having to interact with multiple marketing managers across the world who use the application I support.

My first few months in production support were rough, at best. The workload was not a concern as I was used to having a six day workweek with 10-12 hours a day in my old job. But needless to say, I did have to adjust to a number of other things: the increased number of people I had to interact with and also the multicultural differences. However, the most significant adjustment for me was that I now had to deal with non-IT people.

The difficulty in transition did not lie so much in the difference of technology skills, but the communication. Business people and IT people talk different languages -- that much is a given. And I now found myself in the position of being the interpreter for both sides.

When the tech tells me that the database listener of the web server is down, I cannot relay that to the client word for word. Because all they know is that nothing is working and that it should just get fixed. This is an instance wherein detail is not appreciated. So I choose my words and to consciously rid it of jargon.

And there would be times when I get the heat from clients when the application does not behave the way they expected. It takes patience to explain that it is not a bug when the expectation does not match the design.  Especially when the design have been communicated, reviewed, and approved by them.

There have also been funny, priceless facepalm moments. I once attached a form in an email and have asked it to be returned to me filled out. I was very suprised to find out that the client printed out the form, filled it out in ink (you know, by hand and with a pen), scanned the document and sent me the image file. I should have tried to be more explicit in the instructions.

Another time, a client was adamant that her access rights were revoked because she cannot view a record. She was about to raise a ticket when I asked her to just please try scrolling down. And her priceless response to me was: "It was hiding!" (exclamation point and totally serious demeanor are hers, not mine.)

It got me thinking whether I should have accepted that job offer by old friends from the university who went into start-ups and new cool technologies. I visited them a year ago and was asked the same famous line from Steve Jobs to John Sculley "Do you want to sell sugar water for the rest of your life, or do you want to come with me and change the world?" I knew he didn't mean it, but it was a witty and coincidentally appropriate joke.

Regrets hover on me for just a bit, but do not really settle, because in truth, I do have an interesting job. I get the chance to step back from the nitty gritty details of semicolons and pixel widths and millisecond response times. And now, just think about how all those are used in the real world and how they affect real people. Also, one nice thing about this transition, my clients are very expressive of their appreciation whenever I help them resolve an issue. I've been called a very nice, kind person and an angel numerous times complete with the halo-bearing smiley emoticon. I mean, I never heard that from any of my systems analysts or test engineers.

I guess there are far worse things than dealing with, eww, people.

Adi Adventures (S02, E01)

My brother called me today and told me about the the latest incident my nephew had this morning: little Adi locked himself inside the room and could not get out. 

Their apartment has these old-fashioned doorknobs that require key turns for it to be locked. So they usually just leave the keys hanging from the knobs.

Apparently, while inside the bedroom by himself, Adi was able to somehow lock the door, but was then unable to turn the key and unlock it the other way. The opposite keyturn gets slightly jammed and has to be twisted more forcefully. My nephew is two years old, by the way. He could barely reach the knob in the first place and is not yet strong enough to unjam it.

When Adi realized the predicament he was in, he started to cry and scream out loud. His mom tried to calm him from the other side of the door, but the crying went on. She initially asked him to try and turn the key but could tell that he was having a hard time with it. She finally had the idea of slipping in a paper underneath the door. There was a slight gap between the door and the floor wherein the key can be slid out. So my sister-in-law carefully talked Adi into following the instructions of pulling out the key and placing it on top of the paper that she slipped under the door.

And in between sobs, screams, and probably panic, he did as he was told.

The moment the door opened, Adi, still crying, rushed out and hugged his mother very tightly. My sister-in-law later found inside the bedroom that Adi tried to improvised way to reach the doorknob. He tried to drag the chair and other things near the door.

For now, we view his fifteen-minute self-inflicted involuntary exile to the bedroom as a testament that no matter how far his playfulness gets him into trouble, he is at least smart enough to help himself out of it. 

Jeepney commuters, beware.

A warning to fellow commuters out there. Be wary of groups of men who board the jeepney together. Their modus operandi is to seat themselves around a potential victim and to crowd around him. They will devise a way to distract the person by either nudging/pushing/elbowing or by making an excuse to talk to him/her. During this time, the other accomplices will be going through the victim's things or pockets to take out valuables.

My friend's sister was a victim of this setup a few months ago. The group crowded around her and created a commotion among themselves in her immediate space; Someone even pulled her hair. Disoriented, she got off the jeepney and was not surprised that her Blackberry was already missing from her bag when she checked.

I personally had a close call this morning, on my way to work. Three men boarded together from somewhere near Don Bosco Makati. Two of them seated on my right, while the other sat across from them. On my left was a lady who got off a few blocks ahead. I was about to move to her vacated space but the third guy across took it instead. Instant warning bells. I also felt like being crowded by the one on my right since his backpack was almost overlapping mine. And he also had shifty eyes. Finally, the last straw: the one who was not seated beside me tapped me on the shoulder and mouthed something. I had my earphones on, but I could tell he did not speak out loudly. I ignored him and looked away. He tapped me again and repeated what sounded like "May dumi ka", and pointed somewhere in my hair or ear.

Right then, in a moving vehicle I stood up, yelled "para", and got off the jeep. Thankfully, I was near a gas station and quickly walked to its convenience store, hoping there would be a security guard nearby in case any of the men followed me. There was no guard, but as luck would have it, two uniformed policemen were having breakfast. I stayed in the area for a few minutes to catch my breath, to make sure I was clear, and to let the fear and/or adrenaline settle.

I recounted the incident  to an officemate and just as I mentioned the part about the man saying that I had dirt on me, she agitatedly interrupted to tell me that it was a well-known tactic by robbers and snatchers. They would tell victims that there was something on their hair or shirt, even if there was none. Or sometimes, an accomplice would intentionally rub dirt on them so the other one can point it out. My officemate personally knew of one incident when one guy spat on the victim, and the other pretended to help, but only to have the victim's bag emptied.

Friends, please be safe. Be aware of your surrounding and your fellow passengers. Don't let your guard down when the situation seems suspicious. I do not recommend anyone to be as paranoid as I am, but sometimes, it does pay off.

Google+: my two cents

For someone with limited real-life socialization, I sure have made the rounds of most social networks. Currently, I maintain active accounts in Facebook and Twitter. In the past, I also had profiles in Friendster, MySpace, and Multiply. So it should not come as a surprise that in true geek fashion, I got a Google+ invitation only a day or so after its beta release.

Over a month and 20M+ new users later, there have been hundreds of opinions on Google's latest attempt in the social networking scene.  Early on, some have readily dismissed it as another Orkut or Wave which were both unsuccessful in widely catching on.  But most reviews have been positive, overwhelmingly so. However, most descriptions concentrated on it being a killer of some sort: Facebook killer, Twitter killer, Microsoft killer. That sounds all very exciting, but I'd rather much prefer to not attribute any bludgeoning violence to Google+.

Just to get it out of the way, I think Google+ is awesome. I feel like it has taken the list of everything I find essential in a social network and implemented it. I actually require very few things: a venue where I can share links, photos, blog entries, and thoughts; where I can also see what my family and friends shared. Also a place to find interesting sites and people to follow their news and opinions. 

But then you ask: If that's all there is to it, then what's the point in "migrating" when Facebook and Twitter already cover those features?

The clincher is that Google+ chose to emphasize on privacy. Privacy is the proverbial card up Google's sleeve. Sharing revolves around "Circles". It is a feature wherein users are able to categorize their contacts into groups and with that, the ability to share specific things only to specific groups. 

And before anyone else can yell, "But Facebook already has Lists and Groups!", let me just stop you right there. Believe me, I know this because I've used it. I actually took the time to categorized all my contacts into specific lists. And the process was far from pretty. It works but it was tedious. 

Any heavy object can hit a nail, but a hammer is designed to fit in your hand and to hit efficiently and with much better precision. Google+ was designed with Circles in mind. You can effortlessly group your contacts to however you see fit: family, friends, co-workers, or "crap! They found me!". The process is intuitive. And it doesn't hurt that the interface is sleek.

Also, truth be told, I'm like most people who had the misfortune of being guilted into approving everyone's friend requests in Facebook. And I had to pay for it by wading through a newsfeed with entries that are irrelevant to me. I don't need to know if one of my friends commented on the post of a person I have never met. I don't need to know if someone reached a new level in a game I have no intention of playing. I am not very interested in where people are "checked in" and am most certainly not keen on sharing my whereabouts. Burglars don't need my extra help to know if I'm out of the house.

The way I see it, Google+ has given us the chance of a do-over. Now that you know which of your contacts post vague and inane remarks every hour, and which ones share interesting stuff - you are now armed with the knowledge on how to proceed. You have the option of adding them in a circle or just let them follow you. It totally takes out the risk of offending anyone, because you "follow" people (as in Twitter) but you don't "friend" them (as in Facebook). It is up to you whether you are willing to share what you post publicly or only within your circles.

So if you're still up for more of my chatter, here's my take on some of the features:

Technology

Hangouts is the group video chat feature of Google+. It allows at most ten people to share the same room with the host. Others have used this feature for discussions or interviews. Some people even do yoga and meditation together. Unfortunately, the extent of my experience with this is when my housemate and I just tested the interface and video called each other while we were lounging in my room. It worked fine and it looks like it has a lot of fun potential. The cool things about Hangouts for me is that all it takes is a browser plugin. No fussy software installations, just a teensy plugin. Very nice.

Facebook has its "like", Google+ has its "+1". Now if you have a Google account, you will notice that this notation is ubiquitous. It appears in the stream, search results, articles. The rationale is that when you go to a site or a service that one of your contacts have approved (plussed one? incremented?), you will be able to see it. It's a networking review of everything online.

Google Chrome is my browser of choice. It's fast, it's uncluttered, and best of all, it has great available extensions in Chrome Web Store. There are the basic things like dictionaries, screen cap tools, and then there are also extensions that hide YouTube comments (this would do wonders for your sanity). When Google+ was made public, it literally just took hours for developers to release related extensions for it. Some can change the colors, the layout, or scrolling behavior -- basically a load of things that have not been natively supported yet.

Now, since Google+ is technically still in beta, these extensions can actually be submitted as feedback. And Google's Feedback Button is such a nifty litte tool. The whole feedback mechanism is a great app in itself. Coming from a software development background, I really appreciate how one can send comments and automatically attach a screenshot with highlighted or blocked portions.  You can just imagine this tool being reused and plugged into a totally separate app.

User Interface is streamlined.  I'm sure others find it ugly, but I personally like the minimalist, low-key design. And after the horrible, horrible chat panel/eyesore in Facebook, G+ became way prettier in comparison.

Google Integration

The infamous Google bar in the browser is the quick access of your Google existence. And I have to admit, it made me realize how reliant I am of anything Google: Gmail, Images, Translate (such a lifesaver in global support), Reader, Documents, etc. This just goes to show that the cloud is where it's at, people. It's scary and exciting at the same time. Just imagine: all these data are accessible just by logging into a Google account anywhere, with any device. I say take advantage of the tools, but it is prudent to back things up.

Google+ can be integrated into Picasa and Blogger accounts. So if you stuck with these services for your photo sharing and blogging all these years, that's an advantage.  And there's also the mobile OS Android whose users gloated for a good few weeks for having the Google+ mobile app way before the iOS iPhone users.

User Base

The concept of "following" users instead of "friending" them allows ordinary people to be privy to the updates of the celebrities they follow. This was more of a Twitter advantage because Facebook's Fan Pages just seemed a little impersonal. So millions of people follow actors, athletes, and politicians on Twitter and feed on their 140-character updates. However, microblogging limits what can be shared because of its brevity constraint.  And discussions in Twitter seems a little awkward because of the lack of continuity.

In Google+, celebrities have the option to share whatever they want publicly or privately. And they can share not just text or links, but also videos, photos, paragraphs of text. And also, it has a commenting system to interact and discuss efficiently with their followers. They can even host Hangouts. Personally, I follow dozens of public personalities in my Circles - some from the tech industry, some photographers, some Google engineers.

Unfortunately, I am having a hard time convincing anyone from my family to switch from Facebook and so my Family Circle remain empty for now. Facebook's ace remains with its huge user base. 750M people using the system is no small feat. And it will take a while for most of those users to switch to another social networking service, if they even switch at all. 

Since I had to end this very long litany at some point...

Finally, some tips on how to retrieve your data from these two social networking services (at least, whatever data they would allow you to retrieve).

For Facebook, you will have to go "Account" > "Account Settings" > below that page, click on "Download a copy of your Facebook data." > reenter your password > after a few hours, you will get an email from Facebook notifying you that your data is ready for download > go to the link and download. 

For Google+, go to google.com/takeout and click on the "Create Archive" button. Reenter password and download.

Anyway, here are wise words oft-repeated in the halls of the internet: "If you're not paying for something, you're not the customer; you're the product being sold". Well at least, they try to make it worth our while.

Happy social networking.

Cubao - Quiapo

The jeepney driver's hair was all gray. He resembled KFC's Colonel Sanders. But a little gaunt and Asian. And instead of an affable grin, he had a sullen expression. In hindsight, he did not resemble the colonel at all.

He was also hard of hearing. The passengers had to repeat their destinations to him at least twice. They had to yell "Para!" louder or miss their stop by a few meters. No one seemed to be annoyed at this inconvenience even if it was a rainy rush hour. Maybe they gave him leeway for his gray hair. Or his sullen expression. Or his remote resemblance with Colonel Sanders - but only if he was a little gaunt and Asian, of course.

A couple of blocks ahead, the jeepney stopped at a gasoline station and an old man and an old woman clambered up. The woman stepped in first and she held her husband's hand as they made their way inside the jeepney and sat down. The other passengers took a moment to notice the couple and their unusual eyes. They both had narrow squinting eyes, almost slits, and they did not seem to have lashes. The old man especially had a vacant stare and he sat upright with an unmoving head. Without changing his posture or moving his gaze, he unzipped his bag, reached inside, and pulled out a candy. He unwrapped it, placed the yellow candy in his mouth, and pocketed the wrapper.

His wife was a little more restless. She bent low and rummaged through her purse and pulled out a fifty-peso bill. She inspected it right under her nose and after confirming the denomination, she reached it out to pay to the driver. "Dalawang Taft. Kasasakay lang po."

When the driver got the bill, he asked, "Saan ito?"

"Taft. Dalawa."

"Sa inyo ba ito?"

"Opo, dalawang Taft. Bagong sakay lang po!"

Without saying another word, the driver reached and gave back the bill. When it was passed back to the old woman, she straightened it and held it two inches away from her eyes. She looked momentarily confused when she found out that she was handed back her own fifty-peso bill. Immediately, she reached it out to pay, "Manong! Dalawang Taft po yan!"

The driver waved it off, "Wag na po."

"Ha?"

"Wag na po!"

She turned towards her husband, "Ano daw?"

The other passengers almost collectively said, "Wag na daw po kayo magbayad."

She laughed somewhat embarrassedly and said, "Ay, ganun ba? Naku, maraming salamat!"

Her husband also called out his thanks, a friendly smile on his face and a gaze still fixed straight ahead.

The jeepney moved on. In fact, it always sped on and on every time a passenger yell out "Para!" the first time. The gray-haired driver is blissfully oblivious to the fact that he is unloading his passengers a good block farther from their stops. Or to the fact that he resembles Colonel Sanders. But, no, not really.

 

If symptoms persist...

Monday found me having wheezing breath.

I felt my lungs were lined with thick mucus that I could not get rid off. They just stick there, resilient and unwilling to let go of my bronchial tubes, no matter how hard I try to cough them out. My apologies to those who are queasy and found that description disgusting. My breathing, though not laborious, was uncomfortable. Fortunately, I work from home on Mondays and was still able to clock in my hours. However, the moment Luz  came home, I welcomed her with my whining that I could not breathe properly. One of the many perks of having a great friend and med student as a housemate.

She got her stethoscope and listened to my chest for a bit before agreeing that my breathing was clogged and that I needed a mucolytic (Uhm, "mucus thinner" for the layperson). The type of mucolytic she asked me to take was one that she found effective beforehand. It's called Fluimucil® and it comes in sachets of powder. It is taken by drinking the water you dissolve it in. To give you an idea of what it tastes like, imagine dissolving quarter of a teaspoon of powdered orange juice in a tall glass of water. It only leaves a very slight hint of flavor that it might as well be drinking water from a previously unwashed juice glass. Anyway.

Wednesday found me having unpleasant coughs.

The meds are taking effect. I'm not a wheezer anymore, but a cougher. A quality that is not appreciated in public transportation, I might add. Thankfully, my lunchmates were more sympathetic. Although it is Lanie's persistent curiosity on my mucolytic that has prompted me to look up the pharmacology of Fluimucil®:

Fluimucil contains N-Acetylcysteine, a mucolytic agent. It reduces the viscosity of bronchial secretions. The free sulphydryl group in Fluimucil breaks the disulphide bridges present in the mucus & thereby causes mucolysis. Further, in the mucus producing cells, Fluimucil prevents the formation of disulphide bonds & thereby regulates the viscosity of the mucus. Also, as a precursor of glutathione, an endogenous antioxidant, Fluimucil ensures a protective action on the respiratory system. Thus, it not only protects the respiratory function, but also improves it.

That made very little sense to me, but I'm hoping whatever's in it will make Thursday find me much, much better than today.

--

Disclaimer: This blog is in no way affiliated with Zambon Switzerland, the manufacturer of Fluimucil®. For medication, please consult your doctor. Or if you're lucky, your almost-qualified roommate.

When Great Trees Fall

Today, Father's Day, also falls on my Mother's birthday. It's hard to find words to describe how I miss my parents on this day so I will borrow Maya Angelou's beautiful verses to share.

 

When Great Trees Fall

by Maya Angelou

 

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants 

lumber after safety.

 

When great things fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.

 

When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words

unsaid,

promised walks

never taken.

 

Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their

nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their

radiance,

fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance

of dark, cold

caves.

 

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.

Commuting Sentences (and Paragraphs)

Whenever it rains hard during my daily commute, I get philosophical.

Who am I? What am I doing? Why is it important that I live and work particularly in this unkind metropolis?

This is what abundant potholes, flooded streets, scarce jeepneys, and jostling passengers do to me. I lose my good humor. Ok, maybe my humor is not very good to start with - especially during commute. I am a dour version of myself when I'm commuting. But when it rains and I have to be out of the house -- man, I become far, far worse.

There's nothing glamorous about urban dwelling unless you're part of the small fraction who can afford the lifestyle of chauffeur-driven cars and a prime address. After all, having a car does not exempt you from the horrors of driving through rainy traffic. And what good is it to live in a nice, spacious place if it is three hours away from your work?

Chances are, you're like me. An ordinary employee who lives a good distance away from work and commutes everyday. However, there is nothing ordinary about commuting. Commuting in the metro is war. It is an all-out, stand-your-ground, put-your-gameface-on war. It is a war against all elements; Man against man, man against nature, man against himself.

Commuting is not for wimps or the faint of heart. By your fellow passengers, you will be elbowed, pushed, yelled at. You also have to be wary of snatchers, perverts, and everyday-variety jerks. I'm afraid there's no shortage of those anywhere.

When it rains, be prepared to sacrifice composure and proceed to fold the cuff of your jeans, cramp under an umbrella, and, if you're unlucky enough, trudge through leptospirosis-laden floodwater. There are few things more disgusting than dirty wet socks under sodden shoes.

And remember when I said that I am a dour version of myself when I commute? Well, that was an understatement.  I always, always have to check my temper. In the very early days of my commuting, I once noted that the MRT makes me a horrible person.  It's hard not to take the shoving during rush hour personally. I know we're all in a hurry, but must you push me? Ah, the many times I had to remind myself that life's too short to be upset over inconsiderate people.

On my very first day at work at my current office, it rained so hard that the road outside got flooded. It was around this same time of the year. Come to think of it, it was also a June and I now just realized that I've been with the company two years. Whoa.

Anyway, I digress.

It rained so hard that the the road outside got flooded. An up-to-your-calves flood and by the time I headed home, it was still pouring hard. I could not catch a jeep, much less a cab, or any break. I was drenched, I had to buy rubber slippers, and I had to wade through the murky water. I swear, I wanted to cry. I seriously regretted taking the job at that moment.

Also some years ago, when my brother and I still used to commute to work from our old house in Antipolo, the worst we experienced was three and a half hours on the road going to Ortigas. And by distance, that's just 10-12 kilometers. For some inexplicable reason, the traffic that day was more unbearable than usual. So we came up with a different route. It ended up that we took five different modes of public transport to get us to our offices. We took the trike to the town proper, a jeep to Junction, an FX to Marcos Highway, a train to Cubao, and a cab to Ortigas.

I have piles of other horror stories, but there were also a few comical ones. There was the time when I was riding the southbound train with a stern, schoolmarmy, middle-aged woman who was trying to get off at the Shaw station. She was coming from somewhere in the middle of the car and since it was fairly crowded, was laboriously burrowing her way through the passengers. When she got near where I was standing with others at the doors, she yelled, "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! PADAAN! ANO BA?!" How dare we block the doors and not make way for her, an exiting passenger? What incosideration on our part! Didn't we know that it is common train courtesy? Yeah, if only that were the case.

As she was clearly blinded and disoriented by her frustration at us, I quietly told her, "Ma'am, sa kabila po ang bukas na pinto." She looked up and finally noticed the closed door and the concrete wall she was headed for. She turned around without word and exited at the freely accessible open doors on the opposite side.

At the moment, I think I hear that it has started to rain outside again. This is most unwelcome as I am currently nursing a slight fever and also a sprain from slipping yesterday. I'm foreseeing that when I log off in a few hours, I will be stepping again into the battlefield, as it were.

Friday rush hour. Old foe, we meet again.

Geeking Out

I love pens. My friends know this fact and because of this, I get awesome pens as gifts. On my last birthday, I got two new ones. One was an Inoxcrom. It has a Tungsten Carbide ball stainless steel point. Very nice, very elegant.

The other was from my housemates who got me - are you ready for this? - a Space Pen! What, you ask, in the world, is a Space Pen? Well, you may not be asking, but I have been dying to be asked so I can finally geek out about it.

Space Pens are created by a company called Fisher. They patented the anti-gravity pen which was tested and used by NASA in Apollo 7. Fisher manufactures pens that can write in extreme temperaturess (-30 to 250 degrees F, can write at any angle (even upside down), and can write underwater. What I have is the trekker variety which comes with a carabiner and a break-away lanyard. The day I got it, I left it in the freezer for two nights, and it wrote perfectly well after. Such a cool pen (literally).

I love books. Since I got my Kindle a few months ago, I have picked up again on my reading. Interestingly, I have been reading more nonfiction, which I previously wasn't very keen on. Most recently, I've read "Freakonomics" and "Superfreakonomics" by Steve Levitt and Stephen Dubner. Fascinating stories, studies, and experiments. Who knew Economics could be so fun? 

Somewhat long overdue, but I've also finally read the Douglas Adams book with cult-following, "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". Amazingly humorous writing. And the book was way funnier than the movie. I also tried to start reading Frank Herbert's "Dune" because of the stellar reviews, but I'm putting it off for now. Something about the dialogue, and the use ellipses and the hyphens that I need to get used to.

I still read dead-tree books, to those purists out there. I think the last one I read was "Flowers for Algernon" by Daniel Keyes. Lovely, touching story. I still love the feel of a physical book in my hands. Turning the pages, smelling the paper. In fact, I have an Excel file of my list of to-buy books which my friends just ask me to email them as a gift guideline. It turns out, they are not readily available in bookstores, much to the frustration of Pau particularly, who have asked me point blank to just give a book and store branch where he could find at least one so he can get it over with. 

I love podcasts. I commute to and from work and I found out that listening to podcasts is a good way to calm myself during the rush hour. Currently on my list are: Freakonomics Radio, NPR: On Science, Geek a Week, The Nerdist, Doctor Who, TEDTalks. I am a fairly new podcast listener and am open to suggestions, so please let me know what you listen to. 

One downside of listening to podcasts is that I look totally mad when I smile or laugh to myself amid the crowd of grumpy commuters. The Chris Hardwick interview with Adam Savage at the Largo was fantastic. I'm sure its humor was lost on the elderly woman I sat across from in the train who obviously thought I was odd, but it was worth it.

In a different podcast, an interviewee said that he needed an outlet so he could release all the geek tension that he carries around with him in everyday life. And I could totally relate. The disadvantage of having very specific interests is that you'd be hard up to find people who share the same enthusiasm on the same things. It's hard enough to find someone who will not think you weird, much less find someone who was as psyched as you about Steven Moffat's twist on River Song's identity.

With that, I am so glad I have a blog (but after this, it will be with a huge chunk of ostracized readers, admittedly).

Aggravation

Yesterday night, there was an attempted burglary three houses down from ours.

It was around half past ten and I was still up watching tv when I heard Luz and Allen madly go down the stairs from their room. They heard frantic yells from outside alerting the neighbors that there was a burglar running about.

We scrambled around the house locking windows and double checking doors. We huddled all together for a while on the kitchen stairs and talked lowly among ourselves, trying not to freak out. Shortly after, we went out and joined the neighbors to find out what had happened.

Apparently, the robber entered through the compound's back fence and was trying to break through the bedroom window's screen. The lone house occupant heard the scratching noise from downstairs and upon checking what it was, saw a man trying to climb through his window. It was then that he cried for help. One of the neighbors heard him scream and saw the robber retreat from the window, run away, and disappear into the dark. The eyewitness did not clearly see the face, but could only make up that he wore shorts and a t-shirt, and that he was carrying a gun.

Hearing these details was not very reassuring for us, in the least. We shared the same back fence as that house and if the robber escaped by jumping through terraces to exit on the other side, it meant that he could have gone through our own house. More importantly, both our houses were of the same configuration and the bedroom that was attempted to be broken into corresponded to my own bedroom. 

Barangay officials and the police came. And it might have been better if they didn't. They came, loud voices and all, strutting about like they owned the place and they did absolutely NOTHING. Well, they blamed the victim and pointed out obvious things, if that counts. Luz and I stood there incredulous at the utter stupidity of what was happening. The tenant whose house was burglarized was a student, a kid around twenty years old or so. They were blaming him on his lack of security precautions. WTF?! They said this and that was the problem. This and that should have been done. They did not check the torn window screen or the scaled fence. They did not take down notes or fingerprints. And they did not even know there was an eyewitness until the neighbors interrupted them on their long, useless, ego-stroking tirade. "Ay, may nakakita? Ay, may baril?" They could have known these details much earlier if they shut the heck up for a few minutes and actually did their job. They went about like it was a privilege for us to have them onsite. But even then, they did not accomplish anything. They're not unlike any of those kanto tambays who just came by and offered their unsolicited opinions after gossip-mongering. "So paano? Wala na tayo magagawa, wala na, eh." The gall!

When we came back home, Luz asked me if I was ok sleeping alone. She told me that I could crash in their room or she could stay in mine. She and I share the horrible experience of having our apartment broken into last year and somehow we knew that we're scared more than we care to admit. I said I was ok and would just leave the light on when I sleep. But of course, sleep did not come. Paranoia set in. I was expecting my glass windows to be broken anytime and a robber would be aiming a gun at me.

It was probably around 4 or 5 am when I finally slept out of sheer exhaustion. I found out without surprise that none of us had slept well during the night. The darkness carried with it some unknown sinister event that had us on edge. We were all practically just waiting for daylight to come so we could all breathe a little easier. We made plans of placing security measure around the house, of looking into the possibility of moving into an inner unit. So many things to consider, so many things to do.

The next thing you know, it's nighttime again.

Text Twist

My mother loved Text Twist. She used our old desktop almost exclusively for this purpose.  She had reached dozens and dozens of rounds in the game because she merely paused it whenever she needed to go do something else. So sometimes, a single game would be days old.

If she got stumped on the longest word, she asked any of us in the room to help. I used to go through my old notebooks or text files and find just seven random capital letters and nothing else. These are where I used to hastily write the jumbled letters as Mama would call out each one and ask us to find the longest word they could make. Whenever I got it right, she was always generous with her praises. In my mother's eyes, I was smart, I was quick, I was great. ll because I enabled her to get to the next round of her favorite game. She liked it that much.

Some idle night while I watched her play, I took out my cellphone camera and took pictures of her in engrossed concentration. I still have them somewhere, but I can't look at them now without feeling sad. Sometimes, if I try hard enough, I can somehow contain the memories only to the happy ones. If I just recall one very specific thing - playing Text Twist, cooking Christmas dinner, or watching Harrison Ford movies - I can look back and be happy that the experience even happened. 

I miss my mother all the time and I think of her everday without fail, but I'm finding the second Sunday of May especially melancholic. I wish she were still here. I do miss her taking care of me, but I wish she were still here so I can take care of her. I know my siblings feel the same way. She was gone too soon and we have not begun to repay - no, repaying would be impossible - but even just to show her how thankful we are to have had her.

Tonight, I play Text Twist as I welcome Mother's Day. And what is now my yearly request on this occasion, please hug your mothers for me. Be thankful that you still have the chance.

 

Not so high

I have been corresponding with a few of my high school classmates recently for some event they're organizing on behalf of our class. Thanks to Facebook, there's no such thing as being able to just fade into oblivion anymore. I'm not sure if that's part of the whole direction of the social networking revolution. Whatever its implication on post-high school life, it got me thinking back on those four years.

I attended a science curriculum public high school, but I never felt 'scientific' about anything during my stay. Although a good portion of my classmates did eventually major in Chemical Engineering, if I'm not mistaken. So maybe the additional load of advanced chem subject was a good jump off point for them. Personally, I was just glad to get it all over with. 

I participated in school activities just enough to claim involvement, but always managed to stay in the peripheral. That, ladies and gentlemen, required subtlety to pull off. So needless to say: I was not in the student government, I was not an officer, I was not an athlete, and I never participated in any form of singing, dancing, and everything else that involved an audience and my nonexistent talents in the performing arts. 

So in short, anything that required extended periods of social interaction and public presentation, I steered clear from.

But because I did not want my mother to be called again by my teacher with the concern that I was "not assertive" enough (true story), I made an effort to join activities that would be more apt to my personality. My joining essay writing contests so that I'd be excused from Math class is an oft-repeated story in the halls of this blog. I was part of the COMELEC -- non-partisan politics, ftw! I was also with the Red Cross Youth -- way better than marching back and forth under the heat of the sun. In Red Cross, we learned first aid, planted a garden, kept the grounds clean, and spent time with the kids at an orphanage. And lastly, there was the school paper. The only time I represented the school at anything was when I competed in the national level for the copyreading category. Yeah, copyreading. The process of editing and correcting written material. I did not compete to write, I competed to be a grammar nazi!

But, yes, I did write for the school paper. Forgettable stint, really. Mostly composed of boring news items around campus, except for that one time when the adviser decided to publish my article on local basketball fanaticism. Cheesy, juvenile article, but fun to write and it amused me that our adviser was stumped whether to put it in the sports page or the features page. 

I don't know why I insist on reminding people of how much of a geek I was/am by sharing these stories when it is so obvious that they can perfectly remember without my help. I suppose I could write about how popular I actually was in school and how I had such an awesomely memorable personality, but alas, my fiction writing is a little rusty.

XXX

I turn thirty today and for the record, I am happy being older.

 

I'd rather be at this age and know the things I know now than be younger and know way less. And it's not even things of wisdom or enlightenment because I'd be the first to admit that I have neither. Just knowing things about myself. I am glad that at thirty, I know myself a little better.

 

It's not profound, but I find it important. Too often people don't bother really knowing who they are, what they believe in, what they value. Or what makes them happy, sad, calm, or angry. It seems trivial - knowing yourself. But I think without it, you will understand very little why you act and react the way that you do. Hopefully, with this understanding comes the ability to correct one's self, to arrive at sound decisions. To be able to live purposefully.

 

And because that suspiciously sounded like a cheesy self-help load of crap, let me just pull out an example from pop culture (which everyone knows is sooo much more credible). Remember in the first Matrix (the only one worth watching) when Neo first met the Oracle, she shows him the Latin phrase "Temet Nosce", which means "know thyself". She tells him that when you know yourself, "you just know it, through and through."

 

So I wrote mine down on paper - a sort of "this is who you were" piece. As if I were introducing myself to a future me that does not exist yet. Nothing poetic or structured, just random facts. Some take long, thoughtful paragraphs, others just short, lame phrases like, "Your humor is not mainstream". I'm not sure what I'm going to do with that particular personal tidbit five or ten years from now, but I'm sure it's worth a few laughs in the future. Yes, that sound like MY kind of humor. 

I just wanted to share one of the most important things I will add on that list this year. I realized that gratitude is a great start towards happiness. With that, I would like to thank all my family and friends who greeted me a happy birthday with their presence, calls, emails, pm's, wall posts, texts. Please know that your good wishes are sincerely appreciated.

Sleep, interrupted.

Several things happen when your electic fan breaks down in the middle of the night.

First, you find yourself sitting on your bed in the dark after unplugging the appliance. You considered trying it out in a different outlet, but figured the electrical thingies inside are all messed up and an indoor bonfire is probably not a good idea for now.

As (bad) luck would have it, it's an uncomfortably warm night. You could open your bedroom windows for ventilation, but you don't want to. There is no screen and you don't want to be invaded by insects that fly, crawl, buzz, or bite. Or even birds. A small bird wandered through your bathroom window a couple of weeks back and you let it have your bathroom for a few hours until it found its way back out. Your roommate made fun of you for that, but what the heck. She's the vet, not you.

There's an abanico somewhere and you try to search for it in your bedside table. You don't turn on the lights so your hands feel around your books, your lamp, your alarm clock, your phone. You eventually find it and begin to fan yourself. 

The humor of the situation sinks in. It's past midnight and here you are in the darkness of your room, the silence accentuated by the absence of the usual hum of the electric fan, and you're sitting cross-legged and using the abanico like some weirdo. You're just reenacting another Earth Hour, you say to yourself.

You look around your room and admit that you really should think about reorganizing. You come up with a to-buy list: table, whiteboard, magic tape, bookends. Maybe a small rug. And oh, you really should find the time to hang the cool "Les Aventures de Tintin" decor that your friend Karina got you from Vietnam. You have attempted to hang it several times before, but couldn't commit to a wall or to a height. It doesn't matter if the 3M hooks are peelable and come with extra adhesives. You just want to be sure the first time. You start to think about what that implies with other aspects of your life, but you stop yourself before the pseudo self-psychoanalysis could take off.

You think about reading. Or rereading something. You've recently finished "Surely You're Joking, Mr Feynman!" - the memoirs of the Nobel Prize physicist, Richard Feynman. You found it very interesting and amusing; there were several sections in the book that you want to review. But then, you would have to turn on the lights. You learned from somewhere that light is the strongest zeitgeber. Your circadian rhythm is messed up as it is and decide to drop the reading for tonight.

Ironically, the more you think of how much sleep you need, the less you end up having. And that results to a lack of enthusiasm for early mornings at work. Ah, work. Inevitably, you think about work and incidents and clarifications and teleconferences and emails. You realize you have the entire workday to worry about those things, and you force yourself to think of something else. 

So instead, you think about your life and ask yourself if you'd be proud to introduce yourself to your - let's say - eight-year old self. Can you unhesitatingly go up to your kid-version and say, "You're going to be me when you grow up! You should be excited!"

You try to remember being eight years old and play off this conversation in your head. You make a mental note to write that conversation down somewhere. There are so many things your younger self wants to know. Why you're not a doctor, why you're single, and how come everything you think you need always comes with batteries. 

Several things happen when you ask yourself questions. But you're too tired, and rest seems like a very good idea even on a warm, airless night. 

Bigak-bigak

My sister Mae came up with a game when we were kids. It's kind of disgusting when I think back about it now, but it was very fun when we played it. It involved molding mud and pretending to serve them as food. We never actually ate them, I'm happy to report. She called the game "bigak-bigak". I assume because the repeating syllables just sounds dirty, like "burak" or something. We never really got into the etymology. Good thing that came out of that was she really ended up being a great cook (of real food, not soil).

Mae shared a lot of traits with our mother: quick-tempered, stubborn, and argumentative. But like Mama was, she's also friendly, generous, and thoughtful. She's one year older than I am so she went away for college ahead of me. Whenever she came home during her freshman year, she'd bring  me back books and clothes bought from her own allowance. Even now, she likes shopping for us. Although she's often trying to force me with things that are pink, or with ruffles, or anything more "feminine", sometimes she'd give in and get me stuff of my own (less girly) taste. 

Happy Birthday, Mae! Hugs from across five time zones! Love you and miss you all.

Today's Daily Bread [excerpt]

“If God had told me some time ago that He was about to make me as happy as I could be in this world, and then had told me that He should begin by crippling me in all my limbs, and removing me from all my usual sources of enjoyment, I should have thought it a very strange mode of accomplishing His purpose. And yet, how is His wisdom manifest even in this! For if you should see a man shut up in a closed room, idolizing a set of lamps and rejoicing in their light, and you wished to make him truly happy, you would begin by blowing out all his lamps and then throw open the shutters to let in the light of heaven.”

- Samuel Rutherford

Mentoring

I volunteer as a mentor for grade four students in a nearby elementary school. Every Saturday morning, my fellow mentors and I talk to the kids about heroism, nationalism, environment. They sing, draw, graph. It's good fun. The kids are really smart, they're well-behaved, and they really are like sponges. They take in everything you say.

My first mentee is the littlest of them all. Rozela, being 8, is the youngest of the group. Recently, I also took in Jericho. He didn't belong to a permanent mentor so I asked if I could handle him so he would have a sense of constancy.

We are scheduled for a field trip every after module. For the first one, we all went to the National Museum. And afterwards, the kids were invited for a special screening of the animated movie "Up" in Trinoma by corporate sponsors Chevron and Koliska.

I suppose I could tell you about how refreshing it was to see the kids' faces as they stared in amazement at the museum displays. Hundreds of jars retrieved from wreckage. Bones, clothings, cannons. Yes, they were really amazed. And it was fun to see them get amazed. During the movie, they laughed with reckless abandon. They sat on the edge of their seats, eyes wide-open, not wanting to miss anything. It was so endearing.

But what I simply wanted to take away from that experience is the newfound respect for parents who bring their kids to the mall. I kept on catching myself counting the kids in sight. 1, 2, 3, 4... 10. It should always add up to ten. You hold one little hand in your left, and in your other hand, another little hand which is connected to two other little hands. And then you ask them not to let go of each other and to keep close.

I mean, I like kids, I really do. But it's safe to say that I'm not too keen on taking care of ten all at the same time by myself. I think I shouldn't be allowed to anyhow, for that matter.

So to parents who take their young kids to the mall or at the church - hats off to all of you. I think it's nothing short of heroic.

Speaking of heroism, allow me a few lines of vanity right here. We had a button creating activity with the kids. They were asked to draw a button with the words "Bayani ka, sikat ka!", color them, paste them on cardboard, attach a pin, and give them to people who they think are heroes - those who make a difference in other's lives. The week after, my mentee shyly approached me and slipped something in front of my folder. It was one of the buttons I helped her start. She had finished it. I was so touched. There were crumpled scotch tape behind it and the circle was crudely cut, but I thought it was just great.

Some things you can't teach kids. Some things they get to teach you.

Resilience

We were let off work early on Friday in anticipation of typhoon Pepeng's arrival. The practical employee would've went straight home, stocked up on emergency supplies, snuggled on the bed, and watched the news.

I, on the other hand, was not practical. In fact, I thought I bordered on stupid that night. I spent more than an hour waiting for a cab. And another hour and a half inside one while I traveled from Makati to QC. In my defense, I had good intentions. Who was it who said that hell was paved with good intentions? Anyway, I wanted to check whether I was qualified to donate blood to a friend of a friend. We were of the same blood type and there was no supply of it in the hospital.

You have to know that I prefer not to take cabs by myself. I am paranoid that a lot of cab drivers are homicidal maniacs and I am willfully getting into a death trap. But I can't avoid taking cab rides altogether. Whenever I get off safely from one, I voluntarily pay more than the fare. I just want to thank them for not murdering or mugging me.

Mr. Makati-QC Cab Driver did not turn out to be a murderer or a mugger. What he turned out to be is chatty. And very animated, too. I mean, when the light turned green, he yelled "Go! Go! Go!". When the rainfall would strengthen, he said, "Ayan na! Ayan na!" He was tuned in to AM radio, which I was thankful for. I wanted to keep track of how much I would regret not taking the chance of early work release on that stormy night. Mang Makati-QC would react to grim updates with "tsk, tsk, tsk" or an occasional "shi-yet". He laughed out loud at the antics of Gerry and Anthony of DZMM. He also gave me a recap of the news. How strong Pepeng was getting, its speed, its direction.

Mang M-Q told me of how Ondoy, just days ago, flooded their home in Tandang Sora and how he lost all appliances and furniture. The water almost reached the second floor where he and his family took retreat. He had wanted to save at least the TV or the mini-component but his son had pleaded for him to stay with them and keep himself safe. He saved up for those appliances, he told me. It took a long time, but he bought them while he worked as a truck driver a few years back. "Sabi ko nga rin sa sarili ko, ang mga appliances, pwede mapalitan. Kitain uli. Ang importante, kumpleto kami at walang nasaktan." He told me all this in a conversational way. Without a trace of angling for pity. He said that I'd be his last passenger for the day as his wife has been worried sick and texting him to come home since earlier that afternoon.

I got off at St. Luke's and thanked Mang M-Q.

After the initial screening process, I was eventually deferred on account of my colds from a week ago. Which - for a lack of better term - sucked. I wanted to tell the med tech the utter ordeal of getting there. But it wouldn't have helped. They were just doing their jobs. And a lot of people have better reasons to whine than I do. Barely remembering my courtesy, I thanked them for their time.

Mr. QC-Pasig Cab Driver was also tuned in to the AM radio. I was again given the summary of Pepeng's current strength, speed, and direction. He mistook me for a student (ahem) and advised me to stay indoors during the weekend. Mang Q-P remarked how traffic was much lighter at that time since most of the people have already gone home early. He'd have gone home to his family and also-flooded house "pero kailangan maghanapbuhay".

I got off at my street and thanked Mang Q-P.

It was late when I got home, but I was safe. What I took from that night is a little less paranoia of cab rides and a little more pride in the resilience of the working class Filipino.

Death by Toasted Bread

Tonight, we say farewell to our rice cooker.

This trusty appliance has served us well since I was in college up until a few hours ago when it decided to end its usability with a bang. A literal one.

Let it be known that its last hurrah was toasted bread. Luz was about to unplug it from the socket when it made a bright spark (Luz maintains it to be an "explosion", but that's really just taking it a wee bit far). Instinctively, she took a quick step back, but it only occurred to her that the spark/explosion was electrical when she turned and found me frantically looking around and asking her where the circuit breaker was. 

We managed to find it behind the cupboard then I switched all the levers off, and while Luz held the flashlight, I unplugged the aberrant rice cooker cord with the help of a leather belt (just to be on the safe and paranoid side). Later on, we found Luz's right hand with dark streaks of black soot caused by the blowup just like the ones I had as a kid when I had my run-ins with anything electrical.

We've been roommates for more than a year and a half, and yes, our room is still in one piece.

And so we offer a moment of silence for our unusable rice cooker and all those years of service, not only in the field of rice-cooking but in all manners of culinary dorm-room skills. People still can't believe we pulled off a Kare-kare using it.

What's in a (wrong) name?

An HR officer in the company addressed me by the wrong name. She called me "Raquel". It's not that I have a problem with the name nor that I particulary dislike it. It's just that... well, it's not mine.

In that moment after she asked me how I was -- or more appropriately, how Raquel was -- I had one of those moments of self-assessment wherein I weigh the best course of action in an awkward situation.

First up,there was a possibility that I have misheard her. Some people call me "Cel" although the syllable is not found anywhere in my considerably long three-part given name. The more accurate variation would be "Cil", which is a subset of "Cecilia". And of course there are "Ces" and "Cilia" -- oh, the snickers I got as a kid during science class when the discussion included the cilium.

Anyway, I dismissed that since most officemates call me "Cecil", as indicated in the issued nameplate posted on my cubicle. In fact, nobody knows anybody else's name apart from what that nameplate and the LDAP defined.

If she did mistakenly address me, I could just pretend I misheard her say my name incorrectly. By virtue of double negation (and sensible sentence structure): I will just pretend I heard my name correctly. I could easily pull that off. My roommate and I spend a good chunk of our conversations asking to repeat what the other said. Not really for fun, it usually just has something to do with mornings.

And of course, there is the mature option of politely correcting her. I am, after all, an adult and should be well-equipped to ably navigate through social situations with grace and courtesy, circumventing any possible awkwardness.

I'd be polite, appear respectfully amused while I point out the error. She'd laugh, maybe a quick apology or a quick excuse that she misspoke. She'd proceed to tell me that of course she knew my name. After all, she was the one who conducted my qualifying personality interview which I was half an hour late for. Maybe she'd bring that up. Ask me how I was getting along. And I'd say that I was doing well, and thank her for asking. Yes, yes. This could work.

And so I smile at her and say, "I'm ok naman po, thank you."

Good job, Raquel.

Pens

<Geek Guidance: The following entry is not approved for all audiences.>

I am the kind of person who buys pens and notebooks for no particular reason. I generally like school supplies and often linger in stores to browse through nifty products like clip dispensers or fabric glue. But pen and paper are always the staple (no pun intended).

I'm always looking for pens. Not necessarily expensive ones, just those that write well. In fact, both Parker pens I have were given to me as gifts. Admittedly, how well a pen writes is relative to the person using it. People have different criteria for writing instruments and I find it interesting to find their preferences. And sometimes, if I hear a good recommendation, I set out to find and buy the pen myself.

My minimum criterion for a pen is that it does not skip. The other factors really depend on the paper, because different textures of paper absorb ink from pens differently. I also prefer those that are refillable.

I keep pens of different millimeter line widths. When I take notes and have the time for it, I sometimes use a thicker width (0.5 mm) for headings to simulate a bold style and use a finer width (0.3 mm) for the body of the notes. In school, I used different colored pens for this purpose, but I grew out of that. All my personal pens are now black.

The following are the current roster of my pens. I have a number of others among my things, but these are the ones that are easily accessible and often used.

Pilot G-Tec-C3 ultra-fine rollerball

This is my go-to pen. I've been using this pen since college, although I started with the 0.4mm width. I switched to the finer 0.3mm in senior year and have always had one in my possession ever since. I buy refills for this pen until the barrels are worn out and cracked. It's a pleasure to write with them, especially on smooth paper. The thing with G-Tec is that the fine tip can be sensitive and when it snags, it can be a pain to get the ink flowing again.

Pilot Ballpoint Pen Stick Type (BP-S) Fine

The one I have now of this was actually issued by the office on my first day. I remember using this pen in high school, but I often lose them so I would buy the cheaper Panda. Pilot BP-S is a good ballpoint. Reliable, smooth and easy to write with. The pen's plastic barrel is brittle, though. I actually broke mine at the end tip and had to tape it together.

Uni SX-210 Jetstream Rollerball

This was a very good recommendation to me. This is definitely one of the smoothest pens I've ever used. It glides through paper as if without friction. The barrel is lined with rubber, making it an easy-to-grip pen. I like this pen for jotting down quick notes during talks because I get to write faster and the ink dries fast. But my handwriting looks very inelegant with this pen, because of the line's thick width and because I find that I have less control with my strokes.

Parker Vector Standard Fountain Pen

This was a gift from my friends Jayjay and Karina. I like the fact that I have a fountain pen, but alas, I am no Butch Dalisay. I had to read about fountain pens before I got to use mine. I bought a Parker piston converter and a bottle of ink. I learned to assemble and refill this pen. I also found out that I sometimes had to wash the nib through running water. I actually like writing with a fountain pen. I like the quality of the lines and the difference of the effect with holding it differently and with varying degrees. I would use this more often if I had a proper desk.

Parker Insignia Chrome Ballpoint Pen

My old company gave this pen to me as a sendoff present. I haven't actually used this much and have kept it in its fancy box and its fancy case. They had my full name engraved on the pen and it nearly occupied the length of the cylinder. I like the weight of this pen in my hand. The writing is Parker-quality, but I don't think I'll carry this around. It seems to belong to the desk.

Faber-Castell 1401 Gel Pen 0.5

I saw this pen at the store, made a few tentative strokes, liked it enough, and bought it. This is my "bold" stroke pen for my notes. Some notes: the ink on paper dries a while but the ink on pen dries out the tip quickly, so better keep it capped.

Zebra F-301 Compact Ballpoint

This is my newest find. I read a forum where the Zebra F-301 was highly rated, almost to a cult following. I went to several bookstores to find this pen before finally getting it from the small school supplies section of the mall, of all places. I actually found the compact edition, but I bought it anyway. It is only 97mm in length when closed, but when the cap is placed on top, it extends to 133mm. It is very handy to carry around or to clip into notebooks and planners. I like the stainless steel cap and it writes smoothly and with a fine line.

And after all that long-winded rant, this brings me to the point of this whole entry. If any of you come across the following pens, please let me know where I can find them. Or if you're feeling particularly benevolent, just buy them for me and I will be glad to pay you for them. Thanks!

Ultra-fine Pilot G2 0.38mm
Zebra F-301 Deluxe Stainless Steel Ballpoint

What pens do you use? Let me know so I can add them to my list. :)

Sherlock

I first read Sherlock Holmes stories when I was fifteen. My older sister was a college freshman and had brought books with her when she came home for a break. One of them was the The Strand Magazine reprint edition of Sherlock Holmes. And from then on, I was hooked. I have the books, both in the dead-tree and electronic format. I often reread them when I seek the comfort and familiarity of favorite stories.

Everyone is familiar with the characters of Holmes and Watson, even without having read the books. Sherlock is, after all, one of the most portrayed fictional characters of all time. It is a classic precisely because it never gets outdated. I guess intelligence is fashionable whichever the time period. All throughout the stories, Sherlock grows on the reader. He becomes a real person with quirks, habits, eccentricities.

Whenever I learn that someone has not read Sherlock stories yet, I am excited for all the fun they have before them. The enjoyment of meeting the characters, joining their adventures. But I realize that it's not for everybody. The archaic language is offputting for some, though I find it engaging. After reading a few stories, I think with a British accent which can be amusing.

It is no wonder that when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock in the story "The Final Problem", there was an overwhelming appeal for him to bring the character back. And so the detective was resurrected for another series of stories, starting from "The Adventure of the Empty House". Besides, how can Conan Doyle assume that he can do such a thing? To the readers, Holmes was a living, breathing, crime-solving human being. He lived on 221B Baker Street with his friend Dr. John Watson. He couldn't possibly have died. And so he lived on. He also became the inspiration of other characters -- a favorite of mine is Dr. Gregory House.

Another perpetuity of Sherlock Holmes is through film and television. Based on IMDB entries, there were dozens of releases. I only had the opportunity of viewing four of these incarnations on screen, as follows. Only the last of which I am going to share more of my thoughts. And so off we go.

Sherlock Holmes Returns (1993)

Anthony Higgins (as Sherlock Holmes)

Debrah Farentino (as Amy Wilson - a female version of Watson, for all intents and purposes)

This is the Victorian Holmes who invented and used upon himself a method of suspended animation and found himself waking up in the current day, in America, no less. This is a Holmes that bungles with a new world of modernities, of technology, of culture. A lighthearted approach on how the intellectual British detective could have coped with the changes.

Young Sherlock Holmes (1985)

Nicholas Rowe (as Sherlock Holmes)

Alan Cox (as John Watson)

This Steven Spielberg-produced and Chris Columbus-written work attempts to recreate an alternate beginning of how Holmes and Watson have met. Here, they are schoolboys together, sharing dormitories in a boarding school. It is endearing and aimed to explain some origins of the trademarks of the adult Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes (2009)

Robert Downey, Jr. (as Sherlock Holmes)

Jude Law (as John Watson)

And of course, the most successful Sherlock Holmes film of recent history. This is Holmes in his age, in his time, in his London. For the record, I have always liked RDJ and of course, Jude Law. And this was a very entertaining film to watch -- the costumes, the recreation of old London, the grand sets, the explosions. Guy Ritchie pulled it off - his Hollywood version of Holmes. And being that, there had to be a leading lady in the person of Irene Adler (Rachel MacAdams). Ms Adler was a character from the story "A Scandal in Bohemia", and although Holmes referred to her as "THE woman", it was never in the context of romance, but of intellectual respect. The Hollywood version was fun, though. And I am still looking forward to the sequel.

Sherlock (2010)

Benedict Cumberbatch (as Sherlock Holmes)

Martin Freeman (as John Watson)

And now, we arrive. This BBC's mini-series featured three 90-minute episodes of Sherlock and were created by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, both also behind the Dr. Who series. "Sherlock" is about a modern Sherlock, in a modern England. We have here a younger Sherlock Holmes, early-thirties, tech-savvy, and brilliant as ever. Dr. John Watson is fresh from his tour in Afghanistan (notably, the original Watson also served in Afghanistan).

Apart from the time setting and all the implications that entail, this series is unmistakably faithful to the stories and characters of the books. The names, the addresses, the cases, even some of the dialogue all reverberate from the original Holmes that the readers knew.

The excellence of setting Holmes in the modern day is that it dispenses with the ostentatious sets and altogether avoided the anachronisms. It's not about the horsedrawn carriages, or the pipes, or the deerstalker caps. The series can now focus on the adventures and the characters. They maintained a semblance of the period feel with the clothes and the locations.

Holmes of the late 1800s used all the available resources to his advantage. This modern Sherlock is no different. And because technology abound, he employs the use of every means to aid his investigation: blogging, smartphone, email, internet.

There is an underlying humor in the writing that pervades throughout the episodes.

When accused of being a psychopath, Sherlock had replied:

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath; do your research."

Or when John talked to Sherlock about his encounter with his "archenemy".

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity. We could've split the fee. Think it through next time."

I grinned at the quip about the "three patch problem", an update of the "three pipe problem". And the allusions to the infamous seven percent solution during the drugs bust. It's as if the writers and creators were sharing an inside joke with the readers. A conspiratorial wink. As if nudging and saying, "Remember that part from the book? Hilarious to find it here, isn't it?"

Admittedly, it is also very possible that I am writing favorably about the series solely on the account of my being smitten with Benedict Cumberbatch. Very, very possible. So if you have good sense, you may take everything I say with a grain of salt.

Cumberbatch looks like the younger version of the original illustration of Holmes by Sidney Paget. Tall, very lean, with a high forehead. He has successfully captured the demeanor of Sherlock. He is confident and composed, even dignified. He is very capable of both charm and conceit. And although he is primarily a cerebral person, he also has boundless energy at his disposal. Cumberbatch has portrayed Sherlock with his distinctive traits: Precision in movement. Impatience. Intensity.

I like that they did not introduce Sherlock with a love interest. Because frankly, Sherlock really had no interest in love. They did, however, made fun of the talks that the Sherlock and John are gay.

Martin Freeman I remember from "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and from "Love Actually". I know he is famous for the British "The Office" and by all means, through his interviews, his sense of humor and wit often shine through. Freeman lends depth to Watson's character. He is not just a narrator -- he is his conscience, his manners, his connection to human emotion. He is a partner, not necessarily an equal, but still above a chronicler.

The last episode of the series ends with a cliffhanger that will end all cliffhangers. If it were a speech, it was cut mid-word. Most viewers regarded this as mean, and maybe it was. But it certainly did leave us wanting for more. Fortunately, there are confirmed reports that there will be more episodes. Although, it would be at least a year's wait. In the meantime, the DVD of the recently concluded mini-series will be released in the UK later this month.

Watch the series if convenient — if inconvenient watch all the same.